“Very true,” replied Hand. “I wish it could be done. I, personally, cannot sink any more money. But why don’t you go and see Schryhart and Arneel? I’ve been talking to them, and they seem to be in a position similar to my own; but if they are willing to confer, I am. I don’t see what’s to be done, but it may be that all of us together might arrange some way of heading off the slaughter of the stock to-morrow. I don’t know. If only we don’t have to suffer too great a decline.” Mr. Hand was thinking that Messrs. Hull and Stackpole might be forced to part with all their remaining holdings at fifty cents on the dollar or less. Then if it could possibly be taken and carried by the united banks for them (Schryhart, himself, Arneel) and sold at a profit later, he and his associates might recoup some of their losses. The local banks at the behest of the big quadrumvirate might be coerced into straining their resources still further. But how was this to be done? How, indeed? It was Schryhart who, in pumping and digging at Stackpole when he finally arrived there, managed to extract from him the truth in regard to his visit to Cowperwood. As a matter of fact, Schryhart himself had been guilty this very day of having thrown two thousand shares of American Match on the market unknown to his confreres. Naturally, he was eager to learn whether Stackpole or any one else had the least suspicion that he was involved. As a consequence he questioned Stackpole closely, and the latter, being anxious as to the outcome of his own interests, was not unwilling to make a clean breast. He had the justification in his own mind that the quadrumvirate had been ready to desert him anyhow. “Why did you go to him?” exclaimed Schryhart, professing to be greatly astonished and annoyed, as, indeed, in one sense he was. “I thought we had a distinct understanding in the beginning that under no circumstances was he to be included in any portion of this. You might as well go to the devil himself for assistance as go there.” At the same time he was thinking “How fortunate!” Here was not only a loophole for himself in connection with his own subtle side-plays, but also, if the quadrumvirate desired, an excuse for deserting the troublesome fortunes of Hull & Stackpole. “Well, the truth is,” replied Stackpole, somewhat sheepishly and yet defiantly, “last Thursday I had fifteen thousand shares on which I had to raise money. Neither you nor any of the others wanted any more. The banks wouldn’t take them. I called up Rambaud on a chance, and he suggested Cowperwood.” As has been related, Stackpole had really gone to Cowperwood direct, but a lie under the circumstances seemed rather essential.